


Juicy Spice

by Toast_Senpai



Series: Piquancy [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Anal Fingering, Being Walked In On, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Living Together, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Ross is good at baking.
Relationships: Ross Hornby/Chris Lovasz
Series: Piquancy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1365595
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Juicy Spice

**Author's Note:**

> -emerges from hole- yeah im still alive and here to give yall a thing

Sips leaves his rain soaked shoes on the porch, socks crumbled next to them on the yellowed linoleum. As he steps through the threshold to the living room, he’s hit hard by the sharpness of cinnamon and clove. Instantly, Sips knows what he will find in the kitchen. He goes there, stomach already twisting in hunger at the thought.

The oven is on; the whir of the convection fan a pleasant hum fusing with the water currently hitting the roof. Sips sidles up to it and lowers the door just a sliver for a quick peek inside.

“Excuse you.”

The door springs back closed as Sips releases it. He turns around on his heel.

Ross stands behind the counter island, looking as if he has just woken up. He’s smoothing down his mussed hair with one hand while rubbing an eye with the other.

Sips puts on his best innocent air. “No harm done,” he says with a grin.

Ross grunts and steps over. He presses a button under the clock interface and it beeps. “It should be done anyways.

Sips has to swallow down the saliva pooling in his mouth. What’s better than coming home to a fresh baked apple pie? Nothing, that’s what. He hurries over to the freezer door on the left side of the refrigerator to check if they still have some vanilla ice-cream left.

“I picked some up yesterday,” Ross says knowingly. He slips on two grayed oven mitts. Sips spares him a quick glance. “Yes, I made sure to get vanilla _bean_ , your highness.”

Sips clicks his tongue. “Ya better have.” His search is less than a second long as he spots the blue lidded container sitting on the top shelf.

“Don’t get that out quite yet,” Ross says. He carefully places the scalding pie on the stove-top. “We need to wait a bit for this to set-”

“ _Fuck_ that-”

“I am _not_ cutting into a still molten pie! It will ruin the structural integrity.” Ross gives a sniff as he plucks off the mitts and tosses them onto the counter. He crosses as his arms and gives Sips a pointed look.

Feeling the first bubbles of disappointment, Sips lets the freezer door shut. His shoulders slump in defeat. There is no winning against Ross right now. The man has always been defensive over his baking endeavors. Just like a guard dog protecting its home from an intruder, it would be foolish to even think of taking Ross on.

“What you _can_ have,” Ross starts. He joins Sips by the fridge and wings open the door. Sips spots the browned jug and the displeasure of being denied one of his favorite desserts is replaced with new elation. “Here.” Ross pushes the unopened apple cider into Sips hands. “Will this sate you for now?”

All Sips can do is nod dumbly. He rips the seal off the lid and almost forgets to grab a cup, wanting nothing more than to raise the gallon container to his lips and chug. But that’s for later, when Ross _isn’t_ watching him like a hawk. So Sips does the civil thing. And lord… that first sharp sting of luscious apple down his throat is divine. It smooths out, and he can taste the sweetness as it coats his tongue, accompanied by all those classic autumn spices. He almost chokes, some long-lost feeling welling up that must be linked to nostalgia.

Finally, Sips brings the empty cup down. He breathes for a moment, then smiles. “It’ll do for now.”

Ross returns it happily. They hold each other’s eyes. It breaks when Sips licks his lips of sticky juice and Ross follows the swipe of his tongue.

“Although,” Sips voice has turned to gravel. He moves in the single step he needs to close the distance between them. “If I can’t have the pie, I’d still like dessert.”

Ross wrinkles his brows. “You haven’t even had dinner yet.”

Sips pauses. That is… true. He isn’t thinking the straightest right now. His chest is too tight with emotions he can barely place, and he wants to unleash it on the nearest person he can. Thankfully, Ross is right here, his own personal weekend house wife. Sips grins, knowing better than to share that thought aloud. “Shut up,” he clips, then kisses Ross.

Ross’ back presses against the fridge, shifting magnets and pictures as Sips crowds him. Large hands cup Ross’ face and hold him still as his mouth is opened up.

Sips spreads the sour tang of cider left on his tongue to Ross’ own. Slick and warm; Sips licks into every place he can reach. Ross lets him, humming. There are hands on his back now, kneading against his shoulder blades. Sips faintly realizes he hasn't even taken off his rain-dampened sweatshirt. The heat of the kitchen and of Ross’ body starts to become almost suffocating.

With reluctance, Sips pulls away. He gives one last hard press to Ross’ reddened lips before moving further into the house. He knows Ross will follow. As he goes, he strips off his sweatshirt along with the shirt below. Carelessly they fall onto the back of the couch. He pauses, taking in the rumpled blankets and stack of pillows splayed on top of the leather cushions. It must have been where Ross was sleeping. The television is dark. The only sounds are of his breathing and the rain that continues on outside.

“You coming?” Ross asks softly from behind.

Sips knows Ross would rather do things in one of their bedrooms. But the smell of apple pie, the petrichor, the musk of cologne... all of it is almost too much right now. There’s no warning when Sips topples Ross over the back of the couch, using all the strength he can muster. There’s a surprised huff followed by laughter as Sips clambers over to settle between Ross’ legs.

Ross looks up at him, his giggles slowly starting to calm. “That’s one way to do it,” he teases. His eyes go up to the right, focused above the television. “You think we’re good on time?”

Sips knows exactly what that means. He, too, gives the clock a quick glance. “Should be,” he says.Even though there’s always that risk. The house is never empty for long and hardly ever just the two of them.

Because they still haven’t…

Ross pulls Sips down, lips slotting together in that familiar way. It’s undeniably delicious, this coupling of theirs, a thing that doesn’t happen as often as it should. The year is already coming toan end and soon it will be winter. Business for them both will be into overtime and there will be even less chances like these.

Sips bites at Ross’ bottom lip. He tugs, then releases. Ross rolls up into him, his sweatpants hiding nothing. Sips swallows around his desire as he palms the front of Ross’ pants. It earns him a heady whine as Ross throws his head back into the pillows. Sips doesn’t want to play around today, doesn’t want to take his time. He hastily pulls down Ross’ pants and boxers together as far as he can get them, bunched around strong calves.

He shifts to get more comfortable, though still lets there be a strain on his back as Sips dips his head. He glides his fingers over the hot skin of Ross’ cock just once before he takes the head into his mouth.

Ross swears and shudders. Sips huffs a laugh through his nose. Always so sensitive here, at the tip. Sips tongues into the slit before sucking strongly. It’s enough to get hands in his hair, fingers twisting into the dark strands. Sips goes down further, more of the stiff length sliding along his tongue until it taps the back of his throat. He pulls away just a bit before starting to suck again, letting Ross push up as he pleases.

Sips thinks he probably secretly enjoys doing this more than he cares for it being done to him, oddly enough. There’s something about the way Ross squirms and pants, completely at his mercy like this. There’s most likely a power trip going on, Sips concludes. He’s always been like that: be the boss, be in charge, give a little and take a lot. Though with Ross, it’s somewhat different. He wants to give give _give…_ and doesn’t much care for any take.

“Sips, please,” Ross strains.

Sips slowly pulls away. He catches his breath and purses his lips to work the numbness out of them. Languidly, he pumps Ross’ cock and sucks on two fingers. Ross isn’t even watching him, too busy breathing harshly, eyes firmly shut. It’s a pretty sight, that.

Satisfied with the wetness, he elbows Ross’ legs apart. The right limb ends up resting on the close by coffee table, the other sunk into the crevice where couch back meets cushion, lost like so much change before it. Sips returns his mouth to the needy cock, creating a momentary distraction.

Ross tenses at the feeling, then sighs around a moan. His relaxed state doesn’t last long as Sips slides his middle finger in where it matters. The touch has Ross twitching, eyes now open as he looks down at Sips.

Not able to laugh with a mouth full of dick, Sips does his best to anyways. It causes Ross to hiss. Sips works in his finger all the way, then doesn’t waste time wedging in the next. There’s little resistance, and that alone has Sips’ own need twitching in his jeans. The soft heat around his fingers is only a temptation. That carnal need builds within as Sips spreads his fingers and pushes against the pliant walls.

The next time Ross speaks, it’s a loud croak of Sips’ name. That, mixed with the heavy crack of thunder. These two things are what covers the sound of the porch door. Ross’ high whine of pleasure pushes out the sounds of dropping shoes.

And since he is caught up in this, the almost delirious feeling of having Ross under him, Ross losing himself, Sips is far too slow to react in time to cover up what they are doing. And of course Ross is too.

Alex’s voice is as loud as a fire alarm. “The _fuck?”_ Sips thinks there’s even a bit of echo to it.

In the past, Sips has always gone over how to react if they were caught. He would be quick to cover things up. Hell, he wouldn’t put them in that situation in the first place. But he had gotten sloppy, had gotten too wrapped up in that blissful feeling of coming home after work to the smell of a fresh baked apple pie. He had fallen prey to the biting flavor of cider down his throat and the smile of a tiered but happy man who he loved more than anything else in the entire world.

All of this caused their downfall, and Sips blames no one but himself.

Rain. Only rain and rumbling thunder. Sips mechanically moves himself off Ross, blinding grabbing for one of the forgotten blankets help make the man a little more decent. Sips feels the hard constrictions in his chest as he turns from his spot on the couch to face the two men who had come home earlier than expected.

He sees Trott first. The shorter man is stock still, lips parted just slightly, his usual fluffy white hair slicked wet to his forehead. In his hands are two plastic shopping bags stuffed full and heavy. And then there is Alex, much in the same state of shock. Only there’s a different kind of bewilderment in his eyes. Something a little like exasperation, and the tint of that has Sips’ jaw clenching hard.

Ross says nothing. Sips guesses the man is much more embarrassed than he is. Sips isn’t _embarrassed_ ; he’s mad. At himself, at their situation, at not just figuring this shit out sooner so that this kind of thing didn’t happen _._

He never wanted their relationship to be discovered like _this._ But it has been. And there is no going back from it.

Sips coughs, feels how heavy his tongue is. He can still taste Ross on it. He takes a breath and purposefully meets Alex’s eyes. “Now you know,” he says plainly. “No more hiding it, I guess.” He half expects some type of backlash and is prepared to deal with it.

Nothing like that comes, though. Even the rain lightens. White noise in his ears now as Sips waits. He sniffs, glances at Trott. Sips raises an eyebrow in question.

Trott takes him up on it. “It’s not like I didn’t have my own suspicions.” Sips wants to roll his eyes, but Trott continues. “And this sort of lets... _us_ ,” he motions between himself and Alex, “explain ourselves too.”

That’s not what Sips is expecting. “You telling me you two finally fucked?”

The harshness of the words create silence again. But then Trott is giving a bright guilty smile. Alex groans and covers his face. Ross hiccups with his laugh. And just like that, the tension is gone.

They feel like family again. But this time without any secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> one more to go in this (very) mini-series


End file.
